For years, Calissa has dreamed of her curse breaking. But when it finally does, she was in no where prepared for what happened next.
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Years have passed since she has escaped the tower and all the weakness she had formed are now stuffed insi...
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He felt hopeless and numb, sinking into the depths of darkness. Peter leaned among the cell bars, his hands bound with tough rope and his ankles chained. He had his head down, staring the black floor and wishing he was anywhere else but here.
No.
He could think of many other places worse than this. He shifted in his spot, making the chains move with a soft clang. The guards tensed and moved their weapons upon him, but lowered them after they realized he had done no harm.
He hadn't known what happened before, nor where Calissa was. And it worried him. The last thing he remembered was meeting with the advisor. He hadn't even known what he had said; the words felt like gibberish to him. He saw Calissa's angry face and the crowd's haughty ones. He saw the advisor's hatred and disgust, but never felt it. It was like his body hadn't been his own.
Then he had woken up here. Again. In the cell. And they announced his death to be final in the morning.
Peter wasn't sure how he felt. Anger, sadness, fear. Perhaps even relief. Relief from the fact that he could stop running away, stop hiding from the authorities that had wanted his head chopped off without hesitation. There was no doubt if he revealed who he truly was, they would have sent him to the executioner before he could utter a word of protest. But the question was, why didn't he?
It killed him with anxiety, waiting here. He knew he was going to die. Calissa was probably in the same situation as him, if not worse. And even if she managed to escape, she should leave him behind. It would be for the best.
But he still held on. To the hope, to the glimmer of light. He had never been the one to give up too easily, especially when his gut told him not to.
